Born of Red Earth
by Xrross
Summary: Adam always hated red.


Adam hated dust.

He hated having to spend hours upon hours mining for the stuff. He hated the taste when he accidentally inhaled it and it tore at his lungs. He hated how his heart would leap into his throat everytime he dropped a crystal least it explode at his feet. He hated how his supervisor would scream and yell at him if he failed to bring a certain amount.

But most of all, he hated that how no matter how much dust he brought up, no matter how well he polished the crystals, no matter how many times he broke his body for a single shard, he never got anything in return. All he did was for dust, and dust gave nothing in return.

Of course, THEY said otherwise. They said that him going to a nice bed with a full belly was thanks enough. That he should be grateful for the luxuries they'd given him. That so many other Faunus would have killed to be in his position, and that he needed to understand just how _privileged_ he was.

But Adam wasn't grateful. He wasn't grateful when he tried to sleep on his cold, rock hard mattress, his stomach grumbling as it tried to digest the inedible slop that had he had been fed to stop him from starving. He wasn't grateful when he was driven out of bed every morning into the mines before the sun was even up.

Now that he thought about it, when was the last time Adam even saw the sun?

Adam often thought about it. One of the older workers told him that a perfect sunrise was amongst the world's most beautiful phenomena, the mere sight of it endowing all those who witnessed it with the strength to weather whatever the day had to offer.

Adam wondered what time he was born. Was the sun rising when he was born? Probably not, since his mother died almost immediately after. Maybe she just wasn't looking at the time. Then again, Adam didn't know what MONTH he had been born, let alone the time. He wasn't even sure how old he was. Whenever he asked, the supervisor told him that knowing wouldn't help him work, and told him to drop the matter immediately.

Did the supervisor know his own age? Did he know what day he was born? What was that like? To know the most basic elements of one's identity, what was that like.

Adam didn't even know who named him.

"Red", he was told it meant. In hindsight, it was quite appropriate. So much of his life was dominated by red. A good portion of his hair was red, much of the dust he mined was red, even the eyes of his supervisor were red.

Adam hated red.

At some point, Adam started having trouble crawling into the tight spaces he once fitted in with ease. At first it wasn't that bad; he just needed to push himself through openings that little bit harder. But eventually it got to the point where he couldn't even get his head through. His budding horns certainly didn't help. The supervisor was furious; naturally, as Adam was the youngest worker there. He was the only one capable of working his way through the smallest nooks and crannies to scrape up any dust hiding away. The supervisor didn't believe in wasting the machine power on such tiny scraps. "A waste of time and money", he called it. He demanded Adam go in the tunnels, despite Adam trying and failing just moments earlier. Adam thought back to the uncomfortable tightness, the struggle to breath, the suffocating claustrophobia….

… and said no.

He hadn't really meant to say it. It was more of a reflex than an actual act of rebellion. But looking at the supervisor's face, you'd have though he'd said no, spat at his feet then told him to do it himself. His face was almost as red as his eyes. By the time Adam realised his mistake, he was already being dragged by his arm away. Screaming apologies, he looked back, silently praying that anyone around him would realise what was happening, see the injustice of this and stand up for him, stand up against all the years of oppression they had suffered.

Nobody even looked up.

After that point, Adam's memory became much more fragmented and hazy. He remembered being thrust on to the floor, landing on his face, then somehow ending up on his back with the supervisor sitting on him. There might have been a slap or a punch in there somewhere, but the next thing he remembered for sure was the man sitting on him grinning. Or maybe he was grimacing. Regardless, he was baring his teeth as he suddenly had something in his hand. Something that seemed to glow a bright yellow. Adam turned his head towards it, trying to see what it was, before all of a sudden the entire left side of his vision erupted in flames.

The last thing he remembered before blacking out was the colour red bleeding into everything around him, literally in the case of his left side, and figuratively with his right as the supervisor pinned him down, his crimson eyes watching eagerly.

Adam hated red.


End file.
